A group of six people was assembled in the front half of the drawing-room, from which the card tables had been removed. The velvet curtains had been drawn across the archway leading into the back drawing-room, and the fire was burning brightly in the grate. The room presented a comfortable, if slightly overopulent, appearance, but nothing could have looked less comfortable than five of the six persons disposed round the fire. In one corner of a sofa, Mrs. Haddington sat bolt upright, staring into the flames, her thin, ringed hands tightly clasping her fan. She had risen magnificently to the occasion, when first the body of her old friend had been discovered, her social instincts prevailing over more primitive emotions; but the effort of carrying off an entirely unprecedented situation, coupled with the rapid collapse of her daughter into strong hysterics, had levied a toll on her vitality. She looked haggard, every muscle on the stretch, as though it was only by a supreme .exercise of will-power that she refrained from breakingdown. Beside her, occasionally glancing at his wristwatch, and imperfectly stifling a yawn, sat Dr Westruther, wondering why he had allowed his nobility to lead him to announce that he would remain on the premises until the arrival of "the man from Scotland Yard'. He had not, of course, supposed that this would be so long delayed.
Opposite the sofa, in a deep armchair with wings, Mr. Godfrey Poulton sat, contemptuously flicking over the pages of a weekly periodical, yawning quite openly, and presenting the appearance of one who ought to have been in bed several hours earlier. A little withdrawn from the fire, and seated limply in a chair, her eyes shaded by her hand, was Miss Birtley. Her other hand ceaselessly kneaded her handkerchief. Completing the circle, were Mr. Sydney Butterwick, and Mr. Timothy Harte. Mr. Butterwick's first reactions to the tragedy had rivalled Cynthia's in intensity and dramatic expression. From these transports of unbridled and slightly spirituous emotion, he had passed into a mood of such distressing despair, that Mr. Harte, the only unaffected member of the party, had exerted himself, partly from pity and partly from dislike of watching adult males weeping bitterly, to divert his mind. The task had been a difficult one, but Timothy had persevered, to such good effect that by the time Chief Inspector Hemingway walked into the room Sydney had been coaxed into his paramount hobby, and was passionately assuring Timothy that Giselle was the only real test of a classical dancer's art.
Inspector Pershore ushered Hemingway into the room, announcing that the Chief Inspector wanted to have a word with its occupants.
"Good-evening!" Hemingway said cheerfully, his tone a welcome contrast to the accents of officialdom assumed by his subordinate. "I'm afraid you've been kept waiting a long time, and I'm sorry about that."
"Good God!" said Mr. Harte, staring at him between narrowed eyelids. "You're the Sergeant!"
It seemed, from Inspector Pershore's alarming demeanour, that he only awaited a sign from the Chief Inspector to take Mr. Harte instantly into custody; but Hemingway, regarding Mr. Harte with interest and surprise, gave no such sign. "Well, I was once, but I've been promoted," he replied. "Did you happen to know me when I was a Sergeant, sir?"
"Of course I did!" said Timothy, rising, and going towards him, with his hand held out. "You probably don't remember me, but don't you remember the Kane case?"
A blinding light flooded the Chief Inspector's brain. "Harte!" he exclaimed. "I said it rang a bell! Well, well, well, if it isn't Terrible -"He broke off, for once in his life confused.
"Terrible Timothy," supplied Mr. Harte. "I expect I was, too. How are you? I should have known you anywhere!"
"I'm bound to say I shouldn't have known you, sir," said Hemingway, warmly shaking him by the hand. "If you don't mind my saying so, a nice nuisance you were in those days! And how's that brother of yours? I hope no one's been trying to bump him off since I saw him last?"
"Only Jerry. He lost a leg at Monte Cassino, but otherwise he's flourishing. Got four kids, too."
"You don't say! Well, time certainly does fly! When I think that it seems only yesterday you were a nipper yourself, sir, driving me mad trying to help me solve that case - well, it doesn't seem possible!"
"I do seem fated to be embroiled in murders, don't I?" agreed Timothy. "Only this time I'm suspect, you know!"
"Yes," said Hemingway severely, "and from what I remember of you, sir, that'ud just about suit your book, that would! Of course, I was handicapped on the Kane case, you being only a kid, but things are different now, and I give you fair warning, if you start getting funny with me I shall know what to do. Because the more I look at you, the more I see you haven't changed so very much after all!"
This interchange, though revolting to Inspector Pershore, insensibly brought about a relaxation of tension amongst the rest of the company. It was felt that if young Mr. Harte stood upon such friendly terms with the man from Scotland Yard the mantle of his popularity might well be stretched to cover some at least of his fellow-suspects. Spirits rose, only to be depressed again by the Chief Inspector's next words. Still speaking in a tone of the warmest approbation, he said: "I'll have to come and hear all about what you've been up to since I saw you last, sir. Now, Inspector Pershore's got your address, so that I shall know where to find you, if I should happen to want to ask you any questions about this little affair; and it won't do for me to keep you hanging about here any longer tonight. The Inspector tells me you gave him your evidence very nicely: he's got it all down, so I won't waste your time asking you a whole lot of questions you've answered already."
Timothy grinned at him appreciatively. "Did you find me easy to get rid of when I was fourteen, Chief. Inspector?" he asked.
"No, sir, I did not, but I warned you things were different now! I can get rid of you fast enough."
"Oh, no, you can't!" retorted Timothy. "I'm Miss Birtley's legal adviser!"
This cool announcement had the effect of jerking Beulah's head up, and of causing Mrs. Haddington to look sharply first at her, and then at Timothy.
Beulah said in a disjointed way: "No, no! I don't need - I don't want - I'd much prefer that you didn't!"
"Yes, you would think up a crack like that, wouldn't you, sir?" said Hemingway. "All right, you stay! You won't worry me. And since you're here you may as well make yourself useful, and tell me who everyone is, so that the Inspector here needn't wait about any longer."
Inspector Pershore, who appeared to be more sensitive to suggestion than Mr. Harte, said: "If you have no further need of me, sir -"
"No, that's all, thank you, Inspector. I shall be seeing you later, I daresay," replied Hemingway affably.
The Inspector then withdrew, and Timothy made the remaining five persons present known to Hemingway. He favoured each in turn with his keen, bright look, but singled out Dr Westruther, saying: "You'll be wanting to get off home, doctor, and I'm not going to keep you. I think Inspector Pershore asked you everything, and I know where to get hold of you, if any point should arise that you might be able to help us over. I understand you were with Dr Yoxall when he inspected the body, and there wasn't any disagreement between you?"
"There could hardly have been any in this case," said the doctor. "Death must have occurred within a matter of seconds."
"Just so, sir! And Mr. Poulton is anxious to get home too, so I think it would be best if I asked him a few questions first. Now, sir, if you'll be so good!"
Godfrey Poulton, rising in a leisurely way from his chair, said: "Certainly, Chief Inspector," in his deep, rather cold voice, and followed Hemingway from the room.
"No objection to coming in here, I trust, sir," said Hemingway, opening the door into the boudoir. "It seems to be the only room that isn't full of playing-cards or prawn-patties."
"I have no objection, since I assume that -" Mr. Poulton paused, allowing his eye to fall upon the chair by the telephone. "Precisely," he said.
"Oh, no, that's all right!" Hemingway said, understanding his cryptic utterance. "I don't think I shall be keeping you for many minutes either, sir." He saw that Poulton was looking at his second-in-command, and said: "Inspector Grant. Sit down, sir! I understand you left the library at some time during Mr. Seaton-Carew's absence from it. I think I have all that in Inspector Pershore's notes. Was the deceased a friend of yours?"
Poulton shrugged. "Hardly that. I suppose I've met him half a dozen times."
The Chief Inspector, before entering the drawingroom, had read Pershore's voluminous notes, and he had an excellent memory for relative detail. "Did he visit your house, sir?"
"I daresay," Poulton replied, his heavy-lidded eyes dwelling indifferently on the Chief Inspector's face. "My wife entertains a great deal, but I am a very busy man, and I am not invariably present at her parties."
"Quite so, sir. Mr. Seaton-Carew was Lady Nest's friend rather than yours?"
"It would be more accurate to say that he was an acquaintance of hers. My wife originally met him through her friendship with Mrs. Haddington."
"Were you on good terms with him, sir?"
Again Poulton shrugged. "Certainly - though that's a somewhat exaggerated way of describing it. If you mean, had I quarrelled with him - No. If, on the other hand, you mean, did I like the man? Again, no."
"It's a funny thing about this Seaton-Carew," remarked Hemingway, "that he seems to have been a popular sort of a character, and yet he got himself murdered."
"Very funny," agreed Poulton. "Perhaps you are confusing popularity with usefulness. Unattached men, Chief Inspector, are greatly in demand amongst hostesses."
"Ah, very likely!" said Hemingway. "Well, it doesn't seem as though you can help me much, sir, so I won't keep you any longer."
Inspector Grant rose, and opened the door.
"Thank you," said Poulton. "I shall be glad to get to bed. I have a heavy day ahead of me. Good-night!"
The Inspector closed the door behind him, and glanced across at his superior. "You did not press him, Sir."
"No, I'm never one to waste my time. If you were to have given Mr. Godfrey Poulton the choice between having a sewer-rat loose in his house or the late Seaton-Carew, it's my belief he'd have chosen the rat. Make a note of Lady Nest: we'll see what she has to say. I'd better interview this Butterwick now. Fetch him down, Sandy!"
The Inspector lingered. "Would that one have had the time to have committed the murder, you think?"
"Any of them would have had time and to spare. In fact, this is one case where the time-factor isn't going to bother us - or help us either, for that matter! As far as I can make out, it was anything from ten to twenty minutes between Seaton-Carew's being called to the 'phone and Sir Roderick's finding him dead. How long do you reckon it would take you to nip up half a flight of stairs, twist a wire round a bloke's neck, and nip down again?"
"It is in my mind," said the Inspector, "that it would have been a strange thing for him to have gone into a room where he knew a man to be speaking on the telephone."
"You mean you think it would have put Seaton-Carew on his guard. It might, and it mightn't. Of course, if Seaton-Carew had reason to think Poulton wanted to do him in, I agree that you'd expect to find some sign of a struggle. Supposing he hadn't? Supposing this Poulton-bird walked in, just said, "Excuse me!" as though he'd just come to fetch something?"
"Och, mo thruaighe!" exclaimed the Inspector. "What would he have come there to fetch, tell me that?"
"By the time Seaton-Carew had thought that one up," retorted Hemingway, "the wire was round his throat! Mind, I don't say it happened like that, but even if it didn't there's no need for you to make those noises, which I take to be highly insubordinate. Go and fetch that pansy down to me!"
Mr. Sydney Butterwick, ushered into the boudoir a few minutes later, flinched perceptibly, but seemed to have himself fairly well in hand. His face still bore traces of the emotions which had ravaged it, but he was able to smile, albeit a little nervously, at Hemingway, and to assure him that if he could possibly be of assistance to the police they could count upon his cooperation.
"I was devoted to Dan!" he said. "Utterly devoted to him! I suppose anyone will tell you that. In some ways, you know, he was rather a marvellous person. Slow extravert, of course, and I'm definitely a quick extravert, but with a certain amount of overlap, if you know what I mean. I suppose you might call me an intuitive extravert. I'd better tell you at once that I wasn't in the least blind about Dan! In fact, I recognised and accepted him for what he was. In some ways, I do absolutely agree that he was just a handsome brute, and I shan't deny for one moment that I used to quarrel with him quite terribly. As a matter of fact he upset me rather poignantly tonight, and it's the most ghastly thought that the last time I saw him I was furious with him! Well, not so much furious as wounded. Of course, I know I take things to heart too much: my type always does - I don't know if you've read Jung?"
Inspector Grant's gaze shifted to the Chief Inspector's face. The Chief Inspector had two hobbies: one was the Drama; and the other, which he pursued to the awe, amusement, and exasperation of his colleagues, was Psychology. He had listened amiably to Mr. Butterwick's flow of words, but at this challenge he lost patience. "Yes, and Wendt, Münsterburg, Freud, and Rosanoff as well!" he replied tartly. "That's how I know you don't belong to the Autistic Type. I haven't had time yet to decide whether you're Anti-Social, or Cyclothymic, but I daresay I'll make up my mind about that presently."
This unexpected rejoinder threw Sydney off his balance. He said, with a titter: "How marvellous to meet a policeman interested in psychology! I think I'm definitely the Anti-Social, or Hysteric Type. I mean, I haven't a single illusion about myself. It's fatal not to face up to oneself, isn't it? For instance, although I adore Michael Angelo I do realise that that's probably an expression of empathy-wish, in the same way that -"
"Sit down, sir!" said Hemingway.
Sydney obeyed him, passing a hand over his waving fair locks, and then mechanically straightening his tie. "Do ask me any questions you like!" he invited. "I shall answer them absolutely honestly!"
"That's very sensible of you, sir," said the Chief Inspector dryly. "Suppose you were to tell me, as a start, what was the cause of your quarrel with Mr. Seaton-Carew last night?"
"He had hurt me," replied Sydney simply.
"How did he manage to do that?"
"I hadn't seen him for three days, and he wouldn't speak to me on the telephone. That was the sort of thing he used to do, when he was in that mood. Teasing me, you know, but not really meaning to hurt. He told me once that I took life too hard, and I suppose it was true, but -"
"You thought he was sick of you, didn't you?" interrupted Hemingway ruthlessly. "Oh - ! Not really!"
Hemingway glanced at the notes under his hand. "You said to him, I suppose that means you're fed up with me! and he replied, All right, I am! Is that correct, sir?"
The colour rushed up to the roots of Sydney's hair. He exclaimed in a trembling voice: "How do I know what I said? I suppose you got that out of that little bitch of a Haddington girl!"
"Do you, sir? Why?"
"I've no doubt Cynthia Haddington imagines that just because he took a little notice of her Dan was in love with her!" said Sydney, trembling slightly, and quite ignoring the Chief Inspector's question. "Well, he wasn't! He wasn't! And if she's stuffed you up with some tale of my being jealous of her, it just makes me want to laugh! That's all!"
Anything further removed from laughter than Mr. Butterwick's aspect would have been hard to have found; but Hemingway, while making a mental note of this fact, forbore to pursue the matter. He merely requested Sydney to describe to him what had been his movements from the moment of his leaving his table to get himself a drink to the moment of his re-entry into the drawingroom.
"Oh, of course, if it interests you -" said Sydney, shrugging his shoulders.
"A Chruitheir!" uttered Inspector Grant under his breath.
"There's really nothing to tell," said Sydney. "We had finished playing that particular hand at my table, and I seized the opportunity to go down to the dining-room, that's all. I didn't see anyone, except the butler, if that's what you want to know."
"Didn't see anyone, sir? I understand that you had some conversation with Mrs. Haddington, at the top of the stairs."
"Oh, that! I thought you meant, did I see Dan, or anyone else, who might have killed him. Yes, I believe I did exchange a word or two with Mrs. Haddington, but I don't remember what was said. Quite unimportant, in any case."
"Was anyone else on the landing, or the stairs, when you came out of the drawing-room, sir?"
"I really don't remember. I don't think so."
"What was Mrs. Haddington doing on the landing?" "Good God, how should I know? She was going up to the second floor - in fact, she started to go up when I went down."
"Miss Birtley, I take it, had gone down before you followed her?"
"Yes - that is, I suppose she must have, because, to tell you the truth, I don't recall seeing her. I daresay she may have been there: I wouldn't notice. And, of course, since it all happened mere trivialities have passed from my mind."
"Did you hear the telephone-bell ringing, sir?"
"No, but I probably wouldn't, because it's got a muffled bell, and only makes a sort of burring noise."
"Is that so? How do you happen to know that, sir?" Sydney stared at him for a moment. The smile wavered on his lips. "Oh - oh, this isn't my first visit to the house!"
"I see. And you didn't hear it tonight, didn't know the call was for Mr. Seaton-Carew, and didn't hear anything that passed between Mrs. Haddington and Miss Birtley? I want to get this quite straight, sir, so that Inspector Grant can take it down accurately, and we shan't have to make a lot of corrections later."
Sydney glanced at the impassive Inspector, and from him to Hemingway. Once more he smoothed his hair.
"No, I don't know what they said. I mean, now you bring it to my mind I do seem to remember vaguely that Miss Birtley was there, but that's definitely all. If you're thinking that I knew she'd gone to fetch Dan up to take the call, and that it was I who murdered him in that ghastly way - well, you're not only wrong, but it's utterly absurd! If you must know, I was terribly upset by the whole affair - anyone will tell you that! It was the most appalling shock: in fact, for a moment I damned nearly fainted!" He glanced at Inspector Grant, seated with a notebook in one hand, and a pencil in the other, and burst out angrily: "It's no use asking me to sign a statement, because I won't! I'm too terribly shattered to know what happened this evening!"
"Well, you haven't made a statement yet, have you, sir?" said Hemingway. "All you've done is to answer a few questions, and hand me a few lies, which it's only fair to tell you I don't believe."
"You've no right to say that!" Sydney declared, a trifle shrilly. "You've no shadow of right to talk to me like that!"
"Well, if that's what you think, sir, all you have to do is to lodge a complaint against me with the Department," replied Hemingway. "You'll have to convince them that you didn't hand me a lot of silly lies, of course - and, come to think of it, you might just as well convince me of that, and save us both a heap of unpleasantness. And if you'd stop thinking you'll be pinched for murder if you admit you knew Mr. Seaton-Carew was telephoning in this room, we'd get on much faster. There isn't any question but that Mrs. Haddington and Miss Birtley both knew it, but I can't arrest the three of you, nor I don't want to!"
"O God!" Sydney ejaculated, and, to the patent horror of Inspector Grant, dropped his head in his hands, and broke into sobs.
"Och, what a truaghan!" muttered Grant. "Ist, Ist, nach ist thu?"
"Now, don't you start to annoy me!" his superior admonished him. "Come, now, sir, there's no need for you to take on like that!"
"I know you think I murdered him!" Sydney said, in a choked voice. "All right, think it! Arrest me! What do you think I care, now Dan's dead? Oh, Dan, oh, Dan, I didn't mean it!"
This extremely embarrassing scene caused the Inspector so much discomfort that he could only be glad to hear Hemingway recommending Mr. Butterwick to go home, and to bed. He ushered him out of the room, and came back himself, mopping his brow. "Indeed, sir, I was glad to see you get rid of that one!" he remarked. "Though I would not say Pershore was wrong when he thought it possible he was the man we are after. To my mind, he would be likely to weep the eyes out of his head if he had killed his friend."
"Very likely. And to my mind it was a case of drink taken; and waste my time on maudlin drunks, without a bit of solid evidence to go on, I will not!"
"He was not drunk precisely," said the Inspector, with native caution. "I should say, however, that he had had a dram this night."
"Half a dozen, more like. I'll see Mrs. Haddington next."
Mrs. Haddington walked calmly into the room five minutes later. She looked quite as well-groomed and as well made-up as when she had stood within the drawing room to receive her guests, many hours earlier; but she had removed her diamonds, and her gloves. She inclined her head in a stately fashion to Hemingway, and disposed herself in a chair beside the fireplace. "What is it that you wish to ask me - er - Chief Inspector, I believe?"
"I want first to ask you, madam, where you were when the telephone rang this evening. In fact, I should like you to tell me just what your recollection is of what happened then, and up till the moment that Sir Roderick Vickerstown found Mr. Seaton-Carew dead in this room.
She replied without hesitation: "When the telephone rang, I was standing just inside the front drawing-room. I went out on to the landing, meaning to tell whoever answered the call that I could not speak on the telephone at that moment."
"You thought the call was for you?"
"I did think so," she admitted. "That, however, was forgetfulness: I knew that Mr. Seaton-Carew expected to be rung up, for he had mentioned it to me at dinner. I was not best pleased, though it seems heartless to say that now. Telephone conversations in the middle of a Bridge evening hold up the game, and are extremely annoying for everyone else. Miss Birtley answered the call, and I told her to fetch Mr. Seaton-Carew up from the library, where he was playing, to do his talking where he would not be disturbed - and where he would not disturb others. I can't tell you when he came up to this room, because by that time I had myself gone upstairs to my bedroom. Nor can I tell you how long I was absent from the drawing-room: not, I think, many minutes. When I came down again, there was no one either on the landing, or on the staircase, and the door into this room was shut. I assumed that Mr. Seaton-Carew was still telephoning, and went back into the drawing-room. There was a slight dispute going on at one of the tables, which occupied my attention. I recall that I was very much displeased with my secretary - Miss Birtley - for not keeping an eye on the smooth running of things while I was absent from the room, as I had asked her to do. She was not even in the room, but only entered it some minutes after I did. Then Dr Westruther came up from the library, to say that everyone was waiting for Mr. Seaton-Carew to return, and I asked Sir Roderick to come down to this room, and - well, put an end to all this telephoning."
"I think you expressed surprise, didn't you, madam, that Mr. Seaton-Carew should still be speaking on the 'phone?"
"Did I? Quite likely: I remember thinking that he had had ample time to have made two calls."
"Can you form any estimate of the time that had elapsed between your going up to your room, and Sir Roderick's coming here to look for Mr. Seaton-Carew?"
"Really, I would rather not commit myself," she said. "I wasn't paying any particular heed to the time, you see. It might have been ten minutes - I think not less - or it might have been longer. I have no idea."
"I see. And did anyone, other than yourself and Miss Birtley, know of this call?"
"Everyone who dined here knew that the call was expected. I assume that those people who were in the library must all have known that he was fetched to answer the telephone. Mr. Butterwick also knew: he was standing at my elbow when I told Miss Birtley to fetch Mr. Seaton-Carew."
"You are quite sure of that, Mrs. Haddington?"
She stared at him. "Perfectly."
"You don't think that there is any doubt that he heard your conversation with Miss Birtley?"
"Not the slightest. He is not deaf."
"That wasn't quite my meaning. You don't think it possible that he came out on to the landing after you had finished speaking to Miss Birtley?"
"Certainly not. At one moment I was speaking to Miss Birtley; at the next I became aware of young Butterwick hovering just behind me."
"Thank you, that's very clear. Now, I understand that the wire found twisted round Mr. Seaton-Carew's neck has been identified as part of a length bought yesterday afternoon by Miss Birtley, and left by her on the shelf in the cloakroom."
"So I have been told. I never saw the wire myself."
"You didn't go into the cloakroom?"
"I had no occasion to do so. I am aware that Miss Birtley has stated that she left what she did not use of the wire on the shelf. I can only say that if this is true she had no business to do so: the shelf in the cloakroom is not the place for odds and ends. Furthermore," she added, "it seems to me a very peculiar circumstance that not one of my guests saw the wire in the cloakroom."
"Have you any reason for thinking, madam, that Miss Birtley did not leave the wire there?"
She shrugged. "I should not, myself, place any very great reliance on what Miss Birtley said," she replied.
"How long has Miss Birtley been in your employment?"
"About five months."
"I take it that she doesn't give entire satisfaction," said Hemingway. "Would you mind telling me if her references were all in order?"
"I'm afraid I can't help you over that. I engaged her on the recommendation of Mr. Seaton-Carew."
"Is that so, madam? Was Miss Birtley a friend of his?"
"Mr. Seaton-Carew had - most kindly - interested himself on her behalf. A form of charity rather than of friendship. I should have said that Miss Birtley cordially disliked Mr. Seaton-Carew. It would be better, perhaps, if you questioned Miss Birtley her self I am very reluctant to say anything more about her than that she is in my employment, and that while she has been with me I have had no reason to complain of her conduct. Now, if that is all - ?"
"Not quite, madam. How long have you known Mr. Seaton-Carew?"
She had made as if to rise from her chair, but she relaxed again. "For very many years. He was a close friend of my husband's - almost one of the family. Since my husband's death, twelve years ago, he has advised me on business matters. His death has been a terrible shock to me: I can scarcely realise it yet. I find it very painful to be obliged to discuss it."
"I'm sure you must," agreed Hemingway sympathetically. "I understand he dined with you tonight?"
"Yes, he did."
"Was there any sort of disagreement between you, madam?"
She looked at him, her tinted lips thinning. "I see. You have been listening to servants' gossip, I think, Chief Inspector. It is quite true that I had occasion to be most annoyed with Mr. Seaton-Carew, and equally true that I took him sharply to task, after dinner, and before my Bridge-guests arrived."
"I'm afraid I shall have to ask you what was the cause of this quarrel, madam."
"There was no quarrel. Mr. Seaton-Carew never quarrelled with anyone. He was not a man who took things seriously. He was sometimes, in fact, far too flippant, which made him very irritating. This was by no means the first time he had succeeded in making me lose my temper, I can assure you!"
"Very understandable, madam. And the reason?"
"If you must know, I told him that I would not allow him to philander with my daughter! My daughter is an extremely lovely girl, but quite inexperienced, and Mr. Seaton-Carew's manner towards her was putting ridiculous ideas into her head. He was a very attractive and handsome man, and I expect you know as well as I do how flattered a young girl can be when a man of his age makes a pet of her. He meant nothing, of course, but a child of nineteen couldn't be expected to realise that. I told him that this foolish flirtation must stop, or I should be obliged to stop inviting him to my house. He tried to make a joke of it, and I lost my temper. That is all. Is there anything else I can tell you?"
Just one thing, madam. Is Mr. Butterwick a frequent visitor to your house?"
She was perceptibly amused. "Sydney Butterwick! He most certainly is not! I think I first met him at a party given by Mrs. Chetwynd. He came to a ball I gave for my daughter at Claridge's, and I remember, to my cost, that I invited him to a musical soiree at this house about a month ago. The quite ridiculous and revolting scene he created on that occasion because he imagined that Mr. Seaton-Carew was paying too much attention to someone other than himself, made me say I would never again invite him. Nor should I have, but that I was let down yesterday by one of my other guests, and had to fill a gap at a moment's notice!"
"And on the occasion of this musical evening, Mrs. Haddington, do you recall whether the telephone rang?"
She raised her brows. "Good heavens, no! If it did, my butler would have answered the call, and said that I was engaged. I should not, in any event, have heard the bell, because it is muffled. It rings in the hall, and in the butler's pantry, and the call can be taken from any of the instruments I had installed in the house."
"Thank you, madam, I shan't keep you any longer tonight," said Hemingway.
Inspector Grant closed the door behind trailing folds of black velvet, and turned to survey his chief with a troubled look in his eyes. "It is in my mind," he remarked, that she is a bad woman - a verra bad woman! Look you, it is a clach she has in her body, not a heart!"
"I wouldn't wonder!" retorted Hemingway. "Talk English, Sandy, can't you? "
"And all she said to you about that caileag was spite!" pursued the Inspector, disregarding this admonition.
"If;' said Hemingway patiently, "the halleuk, or whatever it was you said, means Miss Beulah Birtley, I'm not at all surprised. What does surprise me is that she gave the girl a job in the first place. Because she's not my idea of a philanthropist, not by a long chalk!"
"What is this?" demanded Grant.
"Well," replied the Chief Inspector, "apart from Terrible Timothy, Miss Beulah Birtley is the only one of this push I ever saw before. And I saw her a matter of eighteen months ago, at the London Sessions. She got sent down for nine months, I think, for robbing her employer. Forgery, I think it was, but it wasn't my case, and I might be mistaken about that. Fetch her down to have a nice heart-to-heart with me, will you?"